


It Can't Be Helped

by PrincessSkylar



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cancer, M/M, Schizophrenia, Wade as a teacher, canon age gap, implied Civil War themes, super family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2243436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessSkylar/pseuds/PrincessSkylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade Wilson is loved by his students, but none as much as Peter Parker. So of course, the teacher's sudden retirement isn't taken to kindly. Determined to keep in contact despite Wade's removal from his daily life or his crumbling mental state, Peter insists on visiting the man in his disturbing cell of a hospital room. What's more: he plans on curing Wade's illness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regarding My Retirement

Peter never bothered spending lunch period with his friends. He knew they understood why- well, he always thought the term “schoolgirl crush” was over exaggerating, but he was glad they allowed him to spend the time with his favorite teacher alone before they all had his class together. True, a lot of people would think it was creepy if they knew, but it wasn’t like they would do anything… Illegal. Mr. Wilson could be accused of a lot of things, but “pedophile” was hardly one of them.

 

Besides, Peter liked to recall, I’m eighteen now, and it’s only an eight year difference. He beamed as he ran straight from fourth hour to sixth, ignoring the prong of students headed towards the cafeteria in favor of room 106, which was normally used as a classroom for Psychology 2, but at this time of day was only used for a boy and a man-- no, two men, to eat their lunches and hang out in a completely not creepy way.

 

“Hello,” Peter called, rapping his familiar knock on the door frame.

 

Wade looked up from his desk and smiled as he began unpacking his lunch. “Hey, baby boy.”

 

Peter felt like something was off. Had Wa-- Mr. Wilson, always looked that old and tired? He was only twenty-six… He shrugged it off and waltzed inside, sitting at the desk nearest Wilson’s own, being sure to leave the door wide open. Sure, he trusted the older man, but you could never be too careful. “How are you today, Mr. Wilson?”

 

“It’s Wade,” he reminded Peter, “Mr. Wilson is my classroom name. And well, thank you. How are you?” he opened his lunch- tacos, of course- and awaited Peter’s answer expectedly.

 

“Wonderful,” Peter replied, smiling despite the growing feeling that something was just off. Peter opened his own lunch and the two ate quietly for a moment, until Wade finished off his first taco and spoke up.

 

“Peter… There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…” he said slowly, staring distastefully at his meal.

 

Peter’s heart jumped and he briefly considered the open door, though whether he wanted to bolt out of it or lock it shut-- whoa there. He swallowed nervously. “Yes?”

 

“I plan on telling the rest of the class later today-” Peter let out a small breath he didn’t know he was holding, “-but I figured you should be the first to know.”

 

Peter shifted uncomfortably, wishing he had any idea where this was headed so he knew how to feel about it. Wade pushed his food aside, causing Peter to frown- he knew how much Wade loved his tacos- and met Peter’s gaze with a decided determination, which was followed by soft remorse, and Peter grew more anxious.

 

“I’m sure everyone knows I’m different, weird,” he began. Peter nodded uneasily. “And despite my efforts, I’m sure people have noticed how much weirder I’ve gotten over the years here.” Peter shrugged slowly, and Wade sighed. “Peter… I’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia.”

 

Peter pondered that for a moment. He recalled having heard his mentor muttering to himself before, but he had never thought much of it. “Okay…” he replied slowly, looking up at Wade as the older man stood and leaned on his desk with one hand.

 

“And I’ve been declared unfit to teach, as I am a danger.”

 

Peter thought about what that meant for a moment, trying to grasp it, and his mouth slowly fell open against his will. “You mean you..?”

 

Wade nodded. “I’m being fired.” He sighed and started to pace the room. “I won’t be teaching here anymore, or anywhere, ever…” He glanced at his astonished student and let out a resigned sigh. “And there’s more.”

 

“More…” Peter whispered, he frowned deeply. “More?! What else are they doing, taking your family?!” Peter’s voice squeaked and he stood up, but Wade only laughed bitterly.

 

“Peter, I don’t have a family. The closest I do have to anything is this school.” He waved it away. “No, I’m afraid there isn’t anything else the government can take away from me.” He smiled bittersweetly as he stopped pacing and looked into the eyes of a confused Peter Parker. “The only thing left is my life, and the glioblastoma is taking that.”

 

Peter’s mind went blank. What did Wade just say? Glioblastoma? Isn’t that… Cancer? “W-wh…” He wanted to scream out his confusion until he understood, but he only stood there dumbly. He breathed heavily and stood, staring at Wade with a heavy frown as he tried to wrap his brain around everything he had just heard. “Cancer..?” he meant to shout, but his voice came out as a meek whimper as he collapsed back into his chair.

 

“Peter…” Wade sighed as he moved back to his desk and tried to catch Peter’s distant gaze.

 

“Y… You’re dying?” Peter finally met Wade’s eyes, but rather than his gaze being full of pain or fear or sorrow, there seemed to only be confusion and disbelief. “Isn’t there anything the doctors can do?”

 

Wade chuckled. “Unless you’ve found the cure, I’m afraid I’ve given into my fate.” He sighed and leaned back, checking his watch. “It’s been a long fight, and I’m afraid there’s no more denying it.”

 

“But you can’t--” Peter’s protest was cut off as the bell rang and Wade held up a hand.

 

“You can’t say anything, alright?” Wade ordered as students approached the door. “Everyone will know what they need to know when they need to know it. Understand?”

 

The first students started to walk in and Peter nodded dazedly as he repacked his uneaten lunch. His friends joined him shortly and Gwen leaned over her desk to tease him about something, but upon seeing his haunted expression, she only exchanged worried glances with Harry and the two went silent until the end of class.

 

“Alright, students…” Mr. Wilson sat on his desk as he addressed the class as a whole. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”

 

Peter lay his head in his arms as Wade replayed the abridged version of his situation, that he’d be fired and then retire.

 

Peter, Gwen, and Harry left class together, and Gwen held his hand. “Is it really that bad?” she asked softly. “I mean, it’s not like he’s--”

 

“Dying?” Peter interrupted in a hoarse voice, finally meeting his friend’s eyes. She was taken aback by the pain she saw there.

  
“Peter…” before she could say more, Peter yanked his hand away and hurried to the bathroom. He hated the idea of his friends seeing him cry.


	2. Room 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter visits Wade in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first three chapters were written on a whim, without much planning or thinking. So just... Hang in there.

Mr. Wilson was replaced within the week by a man named Coulson, and Peter found himself starting to eat his lunches with his friends, though he usually left halfway through so they could enjoy themselves without him "bumming them out," as Harry had so delicately put it.

_“Can you at least tell me the name of the hospital?” Peter had pleaded. Neither man had touched their food, and Wade seemed particularly out of sorts that day._

_“Xavier’s Institution,” Wade answered absently, his back to Peter. “Look, kid, I’m not sure we should be hanging out like this.”_

_“Shut up, Wade, I’m an adult now, I can hang out with whomever I want.”_

_Wade spun his chair around and slammed his hands onto the desk. “You don’t get it, baby boy, everyone’s wrong about me. I’m a fucking psycho, and, if you must know, I’m a perv. You don’t wanna be around me in private.”_

That had been the last day of Wade working at MidTown High, but Peter was determined it wouldn’t be the last day he saw the man. He remembered the name of the hospital, it was just that… He was afraid of what he would see, how different Wade would have grown.

He made up his mind one day after school, whipping out his phone and pulling up his GPS, he quickly found walking directions to Xavier’s Institute for Special Cases, and called his Dad to tell him he would be home late.

As it turned out, Xavier’s Institution wasn’t far out of the way of his walk, and he made it there in under an hour. He walked inside and up to a desk

A brunette woman sat behind the desk, talking to someone on the phone. “Please hold,” she said before lowering the phone to her chest. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see a patient,” Peter answered uneasily.

The woman glanced at her computer monitor. “Name?”

“Wade Wilson.” Peter watched anxiously as she scanned over her screen, her lips wearing a concentrated purse, her eyebrows furrowed… She was taking too long, he started to shift his feet, hoping Wade hadn’t lied.

“Room 106,” she finally said, before pointing down the hall. “Go all the way down and turn left, the room will be on the right.”

Peter sighed with relief. “Thank you,” he said as he turned to walk the way she had instructed. The woman only nodded and returned to her phone call. Peter made his way quickly down the halls, hating the sterile feel of a hospital. It was so… Not Wade. However, his hurry ended as he arrived at the door marked 106. _Freaky._ He held his breath and gently knocked his little familiar knock on the door. “Wade..?”

The door flew open unexpectedly to reveal a confused Wade Wilson, whose skin, Peter now realized, was covered in discolored scar tissue.  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” Wade asked, looking Peter over before turning and walking back inside without shutting the door and muttering, “Is it?”

Peter frowned. “It’s after school hours…” he answered, wavering in the doorway, unsure as to whether or not he was invited in.

“You said that,” Wade pointed out, sounding like he meant it. “You can come in.” Peter stepped into the room and glanced around. “What do you think?” Wade asked, gesturing around him to the bland beige walls, white ceiling, and tile floor. The only furniture in the room was a little hospital bed in the corner with a wooden nightstand next to it, and a variety of machines that probably served some purpose in expanding the longevity of Wade’s life. There was a red suitcase shut in the adjacent corner, and a weird “modern art” painting on the wall that was undoubtedly placed by the staff in a weak attempt to brighten the room.

“Sterile,” Peter answered distastefully.

Wade nodded, looking around. “That’s what I thought. It gets really boring in here, too.” He made a disgusted face, before turning to Peter with a surprised grin. “Oh! Hey, I was actually hoping you’d drop by, didn’t think you would, to be honest. You’re into art right?”

“Uh, yes?” Peter answered with a nod, unsure of where Wade was going with this. “And I told you I’d visit!” he reminded him, pointing a finger at his old mentor.

Wade smiled down at him for a moment and muttered, “Hey, shut up,” causing Peter to frown before he clarified, “Not you, you’re fine, Spidey. So anyway, if you’re up for it, I could really use some decorations to brighten up the place. As it is, I’m not really supposed to leave, or I’d do it myself.”

 _Spidey?_ Peter nodded uneasily, before relaxing a little and smiling. “Yeah, sure, no problem, I actually have some stuff in my garage that I don’t have room for, I can bring it by and you…” he trailed off as Wade started shaking his head, and he frowned again. “Or… Not..?” He held up his hands helplessly in his confusion.

“Aren’t you learning photography?” Wade asked, going to place his hands in his pockets before realizing his sweatpants had none and frowning for a half-second. “If you don’t mind, I’d like some of your prints for my walls. You’ll get them back, of course, you’ll probably get most of whatever I have anyway when I, you know, die.” Wade jabbed a thumb at the suitcase in the corner. “Not that it’s much, but there’s no one else to give it to.”

“Wait, you want my work?” Peter clarified, trying to keep up with Wade’s ramblings. The older man grinned and nodded. “Okay, so… I guess I’ll bring some of my photos tomorrow and you can choose what you want, then I’ll have it blown up for you.”

“Perfect.” Wade beamed, but a hint of irritation glinted behind his eye and he glanced away, muttering, “No one asked you.”

Peter frowned uneasily. “What?”

Wade turned back to him apologetically. “I was talking to myself, or rather, to my, er, voices…”

“O-oh, okay…” Peter grew more uneasy and he slowly nodded. “Right.”

There was a short pause before Wade looked irritated and said firmly, “No, it’s not.” He glared at the wall, as though his problems came from there. “And it’s never gonna happen, so drop it.” Peter watched with confused fascination as Wade continued, “That doesn’t make it right.”

“Uh, Wade,” Peter interrupted, holding up a hand to get his attention.

Wade’s gaze snapped back to Peter. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I know they’re not real, but they seem to have minds of their own…” He sighed. “God, I’m fucking insane…” he muttered.

“Uh, it’s okay,” Peter tried to comfort, “I mean, it’s a little weird, but…” He shrugged. “I’ll get used to it.”

Wade smiled sadly before glancing away. “Don’t know if there’s time for that,” he muttered. “Anyway!” He turned back to Peter, cheer on his face again. “You were saying?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Peter shifted his weight between his feet. He felt restless. “What, uh, what happened to your skin?” he asked with a frown. “You said you have glioblastoma, which affects your brain, not your skin…”

Wade glanced at his scarred arm and frowned. “Ah, yes, that.” He shook his head. “I allowed them to try an experimental treatment, but instead of curing me, it fucked up me up worse, and accelerated my deterioration,” he explained with a shrug. “So instead of a few years, it could take between one and ten months to kill me.”

Peter was horrified. _One month?_ He shook his head. “How did they miscalculate that badly?” he wondered.

Wade shrugged again. “I don’t really know anything about medicine. They said it was based off some guy called Logan who was able to cure himself of this same cancer without medical help, that’s about all I know.”

Peter felt sick, he reached out for something to steady himself with and his hand gripped Wade’s sleeve, the older man responded by placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Do you need to sit?” Wade offered, watching Peter with concern.

Peter shook his head, “I’m fine,” he lied. _One month is the worst case scenario, Parker, calm down_. He took a deep breath, but he didn’t let go of Wade’s shirt.

“Uh oh…” Wade closed his eyes, he held Peter’s shoulder more tightly to steady himself. “You should probably leave now…”

Peter frowned. “Why? What’s happening?” He held Wade’s sleeve tighter and looked up at the older man, eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?”

Wade smiled, but kept his eyes closed. “I just don’t want you to have to see me convulsing on the floor.”

“How do you know-?”

“I read ahead.” Wade’s hand started twitching and he let go of Peter, opening his eyes. “Just get out of here, and tell a nurse that I’m having a seizure. Got it?”

Peter swallowed tightly and lowered his own hand with a nod. He didn’t want to leave Wade, but he also didn’t want to watch this. “Later, then…” He quickly made his way out of the room and started looking for a nurse, it didn’t take long to find one and inform them of what was happening in room 106, then he was on his way home.

 


	3. Old Photographs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Double-post! Not so much fun. Enjoy!

Peter sulked the whole way home, lost so deeply in his thoughts that he was almost run over several times. He tried to clear his head, but his thoughts continuously landed back on _one to ten months_. Stupid, romantic feelings aside, Wade was Peter’s friend, and he was going to die, alone, in that stupid _beige_ room. Peter arrived at his house quickly and swung the front door open.

“You’re home,” his Pop greeted with fake cheerfulness as he appeared from around the corner where the kitchen met the entry way. “Just in time for dinner!”

“Is it really that late?” Peter wondered vaguely, glancing down at the numbers on his watch but not really registering what they meant. “Well, I, uh…” Peter glanced at his Dad, who was sitting at the table in the dining room with his arms crossed, glaring silently at the polished wood. “I have some homework to do, and I’m not really hungry, anyway…” he excused, walking past.

“Are you sure?” Pop asked as Peter made his way through the living room to his bedroom. “I was kind of hoping we could eat dinner as a family.”

Peter paused for a fraction of a second, hating the tone in Pop’s voice, but he shook his head, he really wasn’t in the emotional state to deal with his fathers' yelling. “Sorry, maybe next time,” he muttered, continuing upstairs to his room.

He locked his door behind himself, a recent habit that had developed after his dads’ first fight, when Pops had stormed out and Dad decided the best solution was to drown it out with alcohol. Peter was the only person to remember the rest of the night after that, but the bruise on his chest and the sound of hearing his dad cry for the first time in his life was enough to assure he would never forget. He pushed the thoughts away, right now was not the time to recall the early stages of the “Civil War,” as Peter had started calling it, and he needed to focus on the task in front of him: getting Wade some decent photos.

He pulled off his shoes and tossed his hoodie aside, before grabbing a box full of photos from his closet. He didn’t bother grabbing his portfolio, though it was full of his best photographs. No, he wanted to pick more personal pictures to bring. He sat on his bed and started shuffling through the pictures, unsure of quite what he was looking for.

He had class-required pictures from his lessons, but he felt they were all restricted by the rules set in place by professional photography. He dug deeper, finding pictures of his friends and family, pausing briefly when he came across a candid photo of his fathers, cuddling close on the couch and smiling genuinely at each other. He shoved it aside and continued looking, pulling out pictures of various things, until he came across one of the school, he wondered if Wade would like it. He placed it on his right side as the beginning of what would be the "Show To Wade" pile.

He continued digging and searching for the next several hours, losing track of time, until he got to the very last picture in the box, which was face-down; he lifted it and flipped it over, surprised to see a healthy-looking Wade Wilson, leaning over a book at his desk. The picture must have been over a year old, because it was in his old classroom, not that Peter could ever forget that room.

He now could recall taking the picture, before he had even known Wade very well, when the man had just been the new teacher at his old school. This had been the first time they had spoken outside of class, when Peter had returned during lunch to retrieve his backpack which he had stupidly left behind in Mr. Wilson’s class. When he had walked back to see the man, leaning over a copy of Frankenstein on his desk, perching forward like a small child as his brown eyes focused intently on the paper, his blond hair drifting down from it’s proper place on his head to fall over his eyes, Peter had been enraptured enough to decide he was the perfect subject to photograph, and had taken it without asking, which would earn him a surprised glance from his new teacher, followed by a lecture (which turned out to be a joke) and a good shared laugh.

Peter had liked him instantly.

Peter stared at the photo and thought to how Wade had looked today: his blond hair was gone. His brown eyes were dull and confused. Rather than acting like an excited child he acted like an immature adult. He was pulled from his thoughts as Pop’s voice drifted through the door all the way from the kitchen, something about Dad being married to his drink. Hoping not to hear his Dad’s reply, Peter grabbed his headphones out of his pocket and untangled them, plugging them into his phone and turning his music on as he ignored Dad’s retort about how at least he acted like he was married to anything. Peter cranked up the volume all the way and set his phone down. He placed the photo of Wade on his nightstand and cleaned up the pictures he didn’t need, before searching for something in which to put the Show To Wade pictures. He found a binder and shoved them inside, before shoving the binder into his backpack. He glanced out the window to see that the sun had already set, and with a sigh he briefly considered his unfinished homework. Fuck it. He kicked off his pants and shut off the light before climbing back into bed, wrapping himself in the covers and setting his phone on his nightstand, ignoring the familiar sound of the front door slamming as he closed his eyes and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture kind of cuts off on the side. For the full thing: http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2014/286/f/3/the_then_and_now_by_princessskykes-d82npxe.jpg


	4. Visiting Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does some research, he ends up late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT A DOCTOR. I know very little. All information presented in this fic is either fictional or stuff I found on the internet.  
> Also so sorry it took so long to upload! I was having a bad writer's block. Hopefully it's over now.

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-_ Peter’s hand slammed onto his alarm clock and he opened a sleepy eye to check the time. _6:15._ With a sigh, the brunette pulled himself out of bed and quickly showered and dressed. He grabbed the stack of photos from the floor next to his bed and headed downstairs.

On the kitchen counter he found a note addressed to him in his Pop’s handwriting.

_Your lunch is in the fridge. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Lots of Love, Pop_

Peter sighed and grabbed his lunch, tossing it into his backpack before heading out the door. He hopped onto the Harley in the driveway (his Dad had bought it for him for his eighteenth birthday) and spent about half of the ride to school fuming over his Pop’s constant absence before his anger melted away to dreary thoughts of school and nervous pondering over what would happen in the evening.

He pulled into a parking spot and shut off his cycle before walking towards the school, making straight for his first class without saying hello to Gwen and Harry. He realized he needed to stop doing that. He conceded to spend lunch with them. When lunch came around, he did just that, though his mind was elsewhere for most of the meal.

Psychology consisted of reviewing concepts from earlier in the semester. So, instead of paying attention, Peter got to work on his BioTech homework from the previous day, which was due next period.

He pulled the homework out of his bag and read over the instructions. It was all to do with the human brain, and brain diseases, and…

_Glioblastoma- a malignant rapidly growing astrocytoma of the central nervous system and usually of a cerebral hemisphere—called also spongioblastoma. There is currently no known cure for the disease._

A thought struck him.

Peter finished up his homework and hurried to his last class, which was just down the hall from 106. As soon as he arrived in the class, which was empty, save for Mrs. Hill cleaning the dry-erase board, he shoved his papers into the homework bin.

“Mrs. Hill?”

The teacher turned to him and flashed a vague smile. “Peter,” she greeted. “How are you today?”

“I’ve been better,” Peter answered, hesitating to take his seat. “Would it be alright if I skip class today and do some research in the library?”

Hill rounded on him and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I had an… Idea, from our latest assignment. I, um…” Peter started to shift under her glare. “I know someone with _g_ _lioblastoma,_ and I want to learn more about it.”

Hill sighed as other students began to enter. “Alright,” she conceded, moving to her desk to write him a hall pass. “I expect something good to come out of this, Peter,” she warned.

Peter nodded. “Thank you.”

Peter proceeded to spend the next several hours in the library, researching every scrap of information available on glioblastoma; common treatments, experimental treatments, side-effects… He came across an online journal about the newest experimental cure.

_Project XI, The Cure For Cancer?_

Peter skimmed the article but, unfortunately, all he could find were two names: Dr. William Stryker and Logan Howlett.

Further research revealed Stryker to be a neuropathologist who was working to find the cure for glioblastoma, as well as other brain afflictions. Howlett turned out to be the only known survivor of glioblastoma, but Peter couldn’t find much else about him.

“Peter?” a gentle voice called from the doorway, pulling Peter from his thoughts. He looked up to see Mrs. Hill. “I was just locking up… Do you know what time it is?”

Peter glanced at his watch. _8:32_. He muttered a curse. “I was supposed to... “ _Visit Wade._ He shut off the computer and started shoving papers back into his backpack. “Thanks, Mrs. Hill,” he said as he hurriedly as he slung his bag over his shoulder and kicked his chair under his desk. “See you tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder.

Peter hurried towards the hospital, the setting sun almost enough out of the way to not make him feel blinded. He practically ran the whole way, the cool autumn air making his lungs feel like they were going to implode by the time he reached the building.

He took a break in the waiting room to catch his breath, allowing the warm indoor air to fill his lungs. He approached the counter, where a dark-skinned woman with white hair was typing something on a computer. He waited for her to turn her attention to him.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Peter nodded.”I’m here to see Wade Wilson.”

“Visiting hours are nine am to nine pm,” she informed him, “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” Peter must have looked crestfallen, because she immediately added, “I can tell him you came by, though.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks. Tell him Peter dropped by.”

She nodded and gave him a smile before returning to whatever she was doing on the computer, and Peter left to go home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW SHORT CHAPTER  
> Definition for glioblastoma (from Peter's homework): http://www.google.com/url?q=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.merriam-webster.com%2Fdictionary%2Fglioblastoma&sa=D&sntz=1&usg=AFQjCNFzJ9FkStYYB0ZZVzIQYtNHtRGZDQ


	5. --Break--

**Sorry to disappoint (? I don't know if anyone's reading this) but this is not a real update.**

**But here's the deal: I am experiencing a bit of a writer's block, as far as this fic is concerned. So, my question is this, would anyone care if I just completely cancelled this work? I'm just not... Motivated to write it anymore. I would rather work on more one-shots.**

**Go ahead and comment what you think. Or ignore me. Either way.**


	6. The End.

Peter did visit Wade the next morning. And the morning after that. He would stay as long as he was allowed, then go home and do whatever it took to avoid his friends and family.  He managed to keep up this routine until Wade caught on that he was skipping classes, and he started going to school again.

Over the next month, Peter started acting normal again, while Wade, on the other hand, deteriorated. The older man started talking to himself more and more, and making up crazy stories about how nothing that was happening was real, and generally not taking anything seriously. 

Peter's grades went back up,  his Pop came home, and so his home life improved, he started hanging out with his friends when he wasn't at school or the hospital.

Wade continued testing new treatments, some of which were helpful, some of which made him worse.

When two months had passed, he tried a new treatment that they said would either save him, or put him to death. Wade agreed to it, despite Peter's protests.

It worked.

The treatment saved Wade's life, but not his mind. The man was still highly schizophrenic, and unfit for society. He was kept in an asylum, which he hated.

So in the years that followed, Peter worked to earn his license to care for the mentally unstable in his own home, so that, when he was finished with college and everything, he was able to pull Wade out of his miserable cage and take him home with him.

They lived together, they were happy, they eventually moved on from friends to more.

Everything worked out fine. Or, in other words, I guess you could say "They lived happily ever after."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the weird formatting. I... Don't really know why that's happening. I'll try and fix it later.
> 
> Now that this is concluded, I can move on! Probably in the future I'll be sticking more in the range of one-shots. Let me know if you'd be interested in more Spideypool orrr.... Whatever. I'll probably be doing more X-Men stuff because of *coughAidacough* reasons. Let me know what you thought, and what you'd like to read in the future!


End file.
